


Stockholm Syndrome

by theblindtorpedo



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Drunkenness, House Party, M/M, Mystery Trio, Orgasm Delay, Sibling Bonding, Smut, Vibrators, light rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 15:10:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4142376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theblindtorpedo/pseuds/theblindtorpedo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer of 1979:<br/>Stanford hosts a party and gets drunk.<br/>Stanley has a trick up his sleeve.<br/>Fiddleford is far too compliant to Stanley's whims.<br/>Things get out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stockholm Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> why did i even do this

 

They should really have been setting up for the party.

Stanford had said he would drive into town to purchase extra snacks and paper plates. Invariably, as on any outing, he would become distracted by someone or something. So, twenty minutes ago the old car engine had roared to life and sped off in the direction of downtown Gravity Falls. And twenty minutes ago Stanley Pines had pulled Fiddleford McGucket into his room, pressed him into the bed, and kissed him senseless. They both knew the other Pines twin understood the nature of his assistant and brother’s relationship; still it really would not do for him to catch them in their current state. But, in Stanley’s opinion, such an opportunity was not to be passed up, danger be damned. If Fiddleford complained, those nuisance lips could be occupied. The smaller man was easily distracted.

“O-oh, mercy!”

Fiddleford’s hands clutched into the back of Stan’s shirt as he bucked up into the thigh pressed between his legs. He could feel Stan grinning into his neck, while a hand deftly moved from where it had been giving the smaller man’s nipples attention, down to the edge of his pants.

“Help me out here.”

Fiddleford scrambled to raise his hips, as Stan pulled with both hands to shove slacks and boxers down to the small man’s knees. Rolling off Fiddleford’s hips to sit on the bed, he watched as the other kicked until the clothes were eventually lost to join his shoes on the floor. Had he been less desperate, Fiddleford might have been embarrassed by the ungraceful display. Now he sighed happily at being freed from the confines of clothes, immediately climbing into his still-dressed lovers lap. He was preparing to attack Stan’s neck with his lips when a commanding hand pressed against his chest.

“Hold on Fids.”

“What?” Fiddleford paused in horror. Was something wrong?

Stan smirked. “I got an early present for you.”

Oh, so he wanted to play that game.

“You do, big boy?”

“Jeez, not like that. Unless you want to later.” A cocky eyebrow waggle, then seriousness again. “Okay, just close your eyes. And do things like normal.” Wide hands slid down to grip Fiddleford’s ass, earning an appreciative yelp. Stan pulled the other man up into a kneeling position. Sparks of apprehension at his lover’s plan flitted through Fiddleford’s brain, quickly eradicated by a heated kiss. The wet sounds of tongues and lips were soon joined by the popping of lube being uncapped and liquid lathering on Stan’s thick fingers.

Fiddleford exhaled in satisfaction as the first finger entered. A steady rhythm began as Stan leisurely thrust his hand upwards, eventually adding a second to the mix.

“Huh-hurry up,” Fiddleford gasped, “your bro-brother, soon!”

Stan laughed; giving another thrust that made Fiddleford whine.

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done.”

Suddenly, the fingers were gone.

Fiddleford pulled away to make a face of question and protest when he felt the first sensation of something foreign at his entrance.

“W-what are you doing, what-“ he made to reach down in between his legs, but Stan caught both his hands in a single handed vice. The other slowly pushed the silicone dildo all the way into Fiddleford’s hole.

“Does that feel good?”

“Mmhmm!” Fiddleford nodded, frantically. “Just do it!”

“No.”

“What?!”

“I’m not going to do anything.”

“I don’t have TIME for your teasing!” Fiddleford beat against Stan’s chest, “Stanford’s going to be here any second!”

“No.”

“No games, Stanley! Do it now! Just make me come!”

“Oh, babe, I promise I will.” Stan brought his hands to Fiddleford’s hips and slowly moved him from his lap to the bed, locking eyes. “But first: do this for me.” Stan’s voice was deep, laced with a lust that Fiddleford had only heard in the wildest of moments. “Wear this at the party. In front of everyone.”

Fiddleford felt his dick twitch traitorously, as his breath also hitched in shock.

“I-I-I,” he sputtered, “I absolutely will not!”

“All right then. Guess that settles it.” Stan crossed his arms. “Take it out yourself. And get off by yourself.”

“You are an absolute child!”

“Or keep it in, and at the end of the night I fuck you until your brains fall out.”

Fiddleford’s mouth was open, but no sounds came out. Stan was unperturbed, moving sideways to slip off the bed. He stood and stretched, nonchalantly smoothing down his shirt. From his position, he looked down at the flabbergasted scientist. He waited, patient and amused, for Fiddleford to eventually be able to form words.

“I’m not going to do this.” The words were weak and unconvincing, even to his own ears. Stan leaned down to kiss him.

“Shh, it’ll be fun. And I promise, afterwards you’ll get fucked so hard and deep you won’t be able to walk without thinking about my cock up your ass.”

Then Stan turned and left, leaving a very turned on and very distressed Fiddleford in his wake.

 

The party was in full swing. Stan couldn’t recall why Ford had wanted to host what seemed like the entirety of the town’s small population in their house. He knew a few of people here at least. The chubby black police officer who’d given him his seventh parking ticket last week was fiddling with the volume controls on Ford’s old stereo, but everyone was enjoying themselves too much to notice. In another corner, the farmer that he had stolen gas from last month had spread out pictures of his livestock on the floor; a small crowd had gathered to ooh and ahh over them. Typical country yokels.

It had been a good call to buy more food and refreshments. A young redheaded teenager, almost as tall as the ceiling and broader than Stan had ever been (he was not jealous), was shoveling food onto his plate like the apocalypse was nigh. God, where did Ford ever meet a guy like that? Other unnamed teenagers dug extensively into the drinks laid out and wasn’t that illegal? But the police were here and no one made a fuss. Just like Stan liked it. Perhaps these townspeople weren’t so bad after all.

As distant as he was from all these people, there was a charm to the scene that Stan would not care to admit. He wandered through the house, content to just watch the show.

Except someone was missing.

“Hey, Ford,” Stan, caught his tipsy brother by the arm, who had been making a beeline towards that diner waitress with the lazy eye, “You seen your lame-ass assistant anywhere around here?”

“I thought you quite favored his ass.” Ford giggled.

“Way to make it weird, bro. See this is why I don’t drink with you.”

“Your loss. Anyways, your boy’s right over there.”

He pointed, beneath the colored paper festooned fireplace a familiar tweed green jacket was engaged in a conversation with a tall bald man.

“And I was thinking about getting some tattoos, right up here. What about you? Got any inks?”

“Never dreamt of it! I-” Suddenly, Fiddleford shuddered violently, dropping the small cup in his hand. He bent quickly to retrieve it, coming up to spy the two Stans nearby. Ford titled his head quizzically.

“It’s only water!” Fiddleford called out reassurance as he righted himself with some difficulty. Ford pressed his thumb and forefinger together to flash an “ok” sign, before wandering into the kitchen to get more food for the main table. A host’s duties called. Fiddleford’s eyes moved to Stanley. The boxer was grinning salaciously, hands shoved in pockets, smug as a cat. Fiddleford shook his head in scandalized disbelief, but Stan only mouthed word “FUN” silently back at him. The smaller man sniffed and pointedly turned back to his conversation.

“I’m sorry, you were saying, Ivan?”

Stan pressed his thumb against the remote in his pocket again. Fiddleford cried out at the second jolt of vibration against his prostate.

“You all right, Doctor?”

“P-pardon me, I have to go!” He dashed off, Stan following at a leisurely pace. He came into the hallway to find the other man hunched against the wall, clutching his sides. The vibrations in his ass were set at a constant rate now and the smaller man seemed to be feeling them keenly.

“Wasn’t very nice to leave your friend like that.” Stan said.

“If I’m not nice, whose fault is that!?” came the snappish reply.

“Feisty.”

“I cannot believe this.”

“But you’re enjoying yourself aren’t you?”

“Sweet lord in heaven.” Fiddleford moaned, wiping his face with one hand. “Why do I let you do these things?”

Stan moved up to wrap a protective arm around his lovers back. “If you really don’t like it we can stop . . .“

“No, no, I’m fine,” Fiddleford pushed off the wall, gulping to steady himself. “It’s just unexpected. Altho-ah-although from previous experiences with you I should not be surprised at this development.”

“You’re making this sound too sciency, nerd.”

“Is this not science?” Fiddleford leaned in breath ghosting across Stan’s face. The shaken man replaced with one whose eyes glinted with determination. “That’s the goal, correct? To see how long I can last? Well, Fiddleford McGucket’s no loser.”

With that, he side stepped out of Stan’s space and sauntered back towards the lights and the noise. Stan would swear he was swinging his hips more than usual.

 

“Ernie, how are you? Good season at the museum? Pioneer Day was a right hoot.”

“Shucks, thanks, Fiddleford. Always the busiest day for sure! Glad you could come this year.”

He flicked the switch again, but Fiddleford was wise to his tricks now. A slight stiffening and a subtle movement to cover his crotch were the scientist’s only reactions. Stan couldn’t even get a good view; Fiddleford kept moving to evade his direct vision, talking all the while.

“We got tons a cars, Mr. McGucket! You gotta check one out yourself.”

“You’re the one who’s Poppa owns that car place?”

“Yup, Bud Gleeful at your service. But, honestly, you gotta come by. I see you walkin’ everywhere. Ain’t good for you.”

“I bet you’re paid on commission, you scamp.”

“Well, you done got me there. Things is, I got a new girl. I’m tryin’ to make some cash to treat her right.”

“Young love, how delightful! How old are you?”

“Pushin’ sixteen next month. Hey, is something wrong?”

“Ah, not to worry. Just over extended some muscles. It’s hard to a-hah stay in one position for too long.”

“You know you wouldn’t have to worry about exertin’ your legs with a car-“

Stan grit his teeth. His lover should be coming in his goddamn pants right now, not making capable conversation with the townspeople. The only evidence to his condition was his fidgetiness and the light blush spread across his cheeks, which could be attributed by anyone else to the drinks. Worst of all, Stan found the amount of control the engineer was exhibiting infuriatingly sexy. Fiddleford knew damn well what he was doing. Occasionally, he would catch Stan’s eye and let a sight of that nimble pink tongue wet his lips. He was reminded acutely that Fiddleford’s submission in bed was to enhance the act, rather than a result of his own skill at dominance. Of course, he would never continue if he felt he was pressuring his lover, but he was unused to having his position of control wrested from him.

Ford, on the other hand, appeared to be actively trying to lose any control he had. His brother was woefully lacking in social skills without being well oiled, but give him a few drinks and the poor man let go as if compensating for a lifetime of sober social ineptitude. At this very moment, the other Pines twin was now very drunkenly standing on a table, waving a piece of chalk in one hand and fisting the other into an invisible microphone.

“~AT FIRST, I WAS AFRAID, I WAS PETRIFIED~”

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“WHAT’S IT LOOK LIKE? ENJOYING MYSELF! GET UP HERE! LETS MAKE THIS A DUET! HEY EVERYBODY DID YOU KNOW MY BROTHERS A DANCER? LETS SEE YOU CUT A RUG!”

“Get down from there, idiot, you’ll hurt yourself!”

“~KEPT THINKIN I COULD NEVER LIVE WITHOUT YOU BY MY SIDE~”

Stan muscled his way through the crowd, climbing up onto the table to grab a hold of his brother.

“Stannnnnn, no you’ll break-“

A loud crack and the two went rolling onto the carpet, to the hoots and hollers of the surrounding partygoers. Stan pulled his brother into a standing position.

“Are you hurt?” He patted down the other man, watching his face for any signs of wincing.

“Not at all. That sure is lucky. IM FINE EVERYONE. STANFORD FILBRICK PINES DOESN'T GO DOWN THAT EASILY.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you. Why don’t you lie down for a bit.”

“’S probably a good idea.” Ford grinned sheepishly.

“Right, nothin’ to see here folks,” Stan said, as he hefted his brother’s weight over one shoulder. Upon reaching Ford’s room, he draped him onto the couch before fetching a glass of water.

“You want me to send them all home?” he asked upon return, as his twin sat up to gratefully down the drink.

“Nnnngh, no let them have fun, “ Ford lay back down, nuzzling his head into the fabric like a cat, “Hey, I never realized how soft this sofa is. Did you clean it special for me?”

“Go to sleep. I’ll check on you in half an hour.”

“Too good for me.” Ford raised his hand, placing the cup in Stan’s hand, “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now go to sleep.”

 

Despite the hosts’ mishap the party seemed to be continuing freely. Stan was introduced to several new people who inquired to his brother’s status and he assured them all that Ford was fine. They were quickly appeased, and upon his word, returned to their merrymaking. Nonetheless, it was tiring to unexpectedly be the subject of strangers’ attention. In truth, he was still rattled by the situation. As soon as he could, he trudged up the staircase to his bedroom. Perhaps a quick lie down might do him some good.

He did not expect the sight on the other side of the door.

Propped up on his knees, forehead pressed into the mattress, was a panting, naked Fiddleford McGucket. Underneath him a hand pulled frantically at his slender cock, already dripping pre-cum into the mattress.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Stan was amazed Fiddleford was able to stay hard, considering it looked like in that instant all the blood in his body shot to color his face in embarrassment.

“AGH-oh, Sta-ahnleyyyyy.” Fiddleford appeared to be struggling to defend himself, but the high pitch of his voice made it sound like a plea for help. The hand working his cock stopped, but his hips still spasmed in aborted thrusts. “I’m sorry, I c-couldn’t-“

“Oh my fuCKING GOD.” Stan was on the bed in an instant, pulling the smaller man into a searing kiss. Fiddleford reciprocated with unbridled enthusiasm, shoving his tongue into Stan’s mouth to lick and taste as much as he could.

“All night” he gasped in between kisses “I thought I’d die” Stan bit and pulled at Fiddleford’s bottom lip “It’s been so-so very hard.”

“I can see that.” Stan reached down and squeezed Fiddleford’s cock, which had been forgotten in the efforts to shove his tongue down the other man’s throat. Fiddleford threw his head back, letting out a high-pitched gasp in pleasure. Stan gave a few strokes of his hand, before using his hands to lay Fiddleford out on the bed underneath him, looking down appreciatively.

“You look so fucking cute when you’re desperate.”

Before Fiddleford could reply he swept down to capture his left nipple in his mouth, laving at it gently. When that was red and aching, he moved to the other to gift it with the same treatment. Fiddleford whined in his throat, combing his hands through Stan’s hair and tugging down slightly. So, Stan traveled downward, kissing the small swell of Fiddleford’s stomach to reach the scientists’ erect member. He placed a single lick up the shaft before leaning back. Fiddleford yelled in frustration.

“Calm down, I’m not tryin’ to be mean. Gotta get these clothes off.”

He pulled off shirt, belt, pants, all of it thrown casually to the end of the bed, while Fiddleford tried valiantly not to touch himself, eyes fixed on the disrobing boxer. Maybe Stan flexed a bit unnecessarily, but his audience seemed to enjoy it. Once fully naked, he scooped the same lube bottle from before from where it still lay on the bed, opening it to recoat his hand, before climbing on top of his lover. He reached a hand down to prod at Fiddleford’s entrance.

“Hey, where’d the vibe it go?”

“Bedside table,” Fiddleford breathed, “Didn’t want to get numb. But when I took it out, oh, I felt so em-empty.”

Stan leaned up and kissed Fiddleford again, gently this time. He took the time to stroke a clean hand across his lover’s face, reveling in how the other man’s eyes were blown wide, bright blue irises disappearing in lust.

“I can fix that.”

Then he moved down, bringing his face down between the cleft of Fiddleford’s ass. Using one hand to brace one of the other man’s bent legs, the other to thrust inside the waiting hole, he began to suck at the already widened rim while picking up a steady rythmn. Fiddleford’s hands immediately flew down to the back of Stan’s head, as his hips bucked upwards trying to get more inside him. Toes curled as he humped Stan’s face desperately. Stan could feel his own member aching at feeling his lover thrashing at his ministrations. Fiddleford was responsive during sex; Stan’s ego thanked him for it. He added another finger and began scissoring in earnest, mouthing around Fiddleford’s balls.

“Please-please-PLEASE!”

Stan raised himself on his elbows and looked at his distraught companion. Fiddleford could barely speak he was breathing so hard, bony chest heaving. The sweat on his neck shined enticing in the electric light. Stan leaned over to lick at the pounding pulse below Fiddleford’s jaw, the mix of salt and skin delicious on his tongue.

“I need you inside me right this instant.”

“That was always the plan.” Stan grabbed himself to align against Fiddleford’s entrance and pushed in. This time it was he would he who groaned, as Fiddleford clenched his teeth. Once Fiddleford had relaxed he started moving, gently first, then faster. Fiddleford moved to meet his thrusts until the bed shook with their combined energy. Maybe someone would hear. Stan realized he didn’t care.

“It’s only me. Oh-only me who can make you like this? All beautiful and, nngh, needy just for me?”

“Yes!” Fiddleford gasped, before reverting to his constantly guttural noises of pleasure. The moans reverberated in Stan’s ears, making his cock feel even harder. He was nearing his limit.

He reached down to grab Fiddleford’s cock, jerking it roughly. Finally, with an agonized cry the man under him came, spurting high onto Stan’s chest, clenching around the cock buried deep inside him. Stan lost all sense of rhythm as he pounded furiously, seeking release. He came with a grunt, slamming one last time into Fiddleford, before collapsing back onto his side.

Eventually, Fiddleford raised himself up on one elbow, his body still trembling slightly.

"Goodness," he murmured. Stan laughed breathlessly. Fiddleford eyed him with a mixture of amusement and affection.

“That was a wonderful present, Stanley," he said, running a hand idly across Stan’s chest. Fiddleford's rumpled hair hung over his brow. Adorably unkempt, in Stan's opinion.

“Always the best for you, babe.” Stan leaned up to kiss the side of Fiddleford’s face. "Come here." He pulled the other man down into his arms. They lay together feeling each other’s irregular breathing. Content. Downstairs the thrum of the party still played.

 

“Quite the party,” Ford observed. His haggard eyes surveyed the destroyed hallway and hints of other rooms filled with detritus.

“Yes, it was indeed lovely,” Fiddleford agreed, from the kitchen. “Why I never knew you were so familiar with so many people.” The smell of pancakes cooking wafted along with his voice.

“To be honest I probably only knew a third of them.”

“You are never inviting anyone over ever again,” Stan stated, as he collected torn scraps of paper and plastic cups, throwing them into a garbage bag.

Ford was nonplussed. “I don't see you in any position to judge, Stan. From the noises I heard, I don't think either of you two spent much time at the party at all.”

The sound of a spatula falling to the floor exposed a mortified Fiddledord. Stan buried his face into his palm. Ford snickered.

**Author's Note:**

> I NEVER WROTE PORN BEFORE THIS, I HOPE THIS WASN'T TOO BAD. (But i couldn't get the idea out of my head! I needed to finish it before I start the Fiddlestan Big Bang AU. ☺️ )
> 
> Again, rates and reviews are deeply appreciated and motivate me to write. So please, if you enjoyed let me know!
> 
> Also, promo for www.fiddlestan.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you!


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